Top Stories
Stories in Fiction that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
You Can Do Magic
“You're the one that can put out the fire, you know darn well when you cast your spell you will get your way-” “PanDan, if you don't get your lollygagging tookus down here this instant and help us out, you'll get nothing for Samhain! And stop singing, you know how it might affect things!”
By Meredith Harmon2 years ago in Fiction
Autumn Days
The pavement is pied with amber, russet, browns of every shade, its dirty grey now pooled with rough edged warmth, papering the fissures in rain slick copper and bronze. Our feet upon it step in time, the rhythm of many years of walking side by side, on spring bright grass, on summer scorched earth and on autumnal mulch, layers of leaf mould soft and giving beneath us. We have matured together, stride for stride, and delight in this easy symbiance even as we take it for granted now. Weaving our bodies, more stiffly that when our spines were fresh and sinuous, around the wooden kissing gate and into the glow of the wood at the end of the lane, we both start to listen for familiar sounds, the soft curring bass of the wood pigeons, the liquid treble of the goldfinch, the shrill pips of the robins, but always, the soft footfalls of the other, the shifts in attention, the breath, the ever present breath.
By Hannah Moore2 years ago in Fiction
One Minute Past Midnight
The great-grandmother alternated pacing and sitting in her rocker threatening to wear two rocker-shaped holes in the wooden floor. Her eyes were red from the crying and she twisted the small cloth clutched in her hands back and forth until her wrists hurt. She muttered in a sing-song voice that would have led any eavesdropper to think she was casting spells. Indeed, perhaps she was.
By Suzy Jacobson Cherry2 years ago in Fiction
Feeding Pigeons, Finding Memories
Jed sat on the old paint-peeled wooden bench at the park and tossed crumbs to the pigeons, just as he did every day during his lunch break. It had become a routine for him over the past few months. It was the one hour of calm he had in what seemed like unending days of chaos at work, and tortured nights at home in his one-bedroom flat. Here, on this bench he could clear his mind.
By Cathy holmes2 years ago in Fiction
THE BATTERY
The Waning Gibbous moon hung over the stadium like an over-anxious fan. While fans were caught off-guard by the unexpected cold snap, sweatshirts and blankets were flying off the venue store's shelves. The food vendors couldn't keep up with the coffee and hot chocolate orders. In the concourse, long lines formed. Increasing heart rates and breathing, positive energy, the excitement was palpable. The din of the crowd hummed and roared in anticipation of the opening game of the season.
By Babs Iverson2 years ago in Fiction
